


Progress

by junailens



Category: Death Note
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, weird L and Near's version of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junailens/pseuds/junailens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If emotions can't be defined, if their meaning can't be written out on paper to be debated or reasoned with, then they are worthless.</p>
<p>What happened to this way of thinking? Near thought people who gave power to their emotions were foolish, so when L claims that he loves Near, the orphan is forced to contemplate his views.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progress

My eyelids fell shut yet again, and I rubbed my fists against them, fighting away sleep. I hated sleeping here. I longed to be back at home, where even if I didn't have parents who loved me, at least I had comfortable and luxurious living conditions.

I blinked hard as my arm slipped from around the toy giraffe, dead tired. I tried to pick it up, to regain a hold around the giraffe's thin, plastic neck, but I had no energy left. With one last small yawn, my eyes closed and I fell forward onto my legs, surrounded by a plethora of toys, fast asleep.

Some amount of time later, I was awoken by a hand on my shoulder. I yawned, forcing my eyes open to see who could be intruding on my slumber.

"Take this. You need a blanket, or else your chances of catching a cold increase by up to 13 percent," L said, tossing a blanket over my head. I found the edge and peeked out from under it.

"Why did you wake me up?" I asked. No one had ever bothered me when I slept in here before. Hardly anyone had acknowledged my existence since I had arrived at the orphanage, much less shown genuine care for me like L was doing through this seemingly unprovoked act of kindness.

"Go to your room. You can't sleep here all the time," He commanded. I was mildly surprised. It wasn't at the suggestion, which logically would be better for my health, more convenient for janitors and cleaning employees, and clearly the better choice. It was the tone he said it in. Not at all like when my parents would banish me from the room, when they were talking about things they thought I couldn't, shouldn't, or wouldn't want to know about. Like my mother's drug habits, or my father's "job" as the owner of a prestigious restaurant, which consisted of far more unregistered guns and under the table money dealings than any other entrepreneur I knew of. They told me to go to my room like they thought I didn't already know everything. As if I couldn't hear them scream at each other every night. I always went to my room, but I never stopped listening.

I didn't go to my room this time. I simply glared at the so-called "L" with as much defiance as I could muster. "No one ever cared before now. Why do you show interest in my sleeping habits?" I questioned. Maybe I didn't even consciously feel myself the underlying desperate longing I was denying. The longing to be cared about, to know what it's like for someone to recognize you, and feel something when they see you lying alone on the cold, hard floor. I didn't realize it, but if I had thought about it, L definitely did. If it had crossed my mind to notice the subtle change in his demeanor, the softness that appeared in his sharp, black gaze. He knelt down.

"It is in my best interest to see that all the children at this orphanage are in the best condition that can be provided. I merely wish to provide you with as much comfort as can be attained in such a place," he answered neutrally. I pulled the blanket down around my shoulders as I thought about this.

"You say that assuming that any level of comfort can be achieved at all. My parents were murdered less than a week ago, yet you seem to have assumed the view that I am functioning in a normal mental state," I countered.

"That's what you want me to think."

"...that's not what we're arguing," I blatantly avoid his statement. He notices, but doesn't pry. A lock of snow-white hair is wrapped around my fingers as I continue with my counterargument. "I still am not satisfied with your answer as to why, exactly, you wanted to make me more comfortable?"

"As I stated previously, I merely want you to be in your best possible mental state. That includes emotions and relationships, of which you seemed to be neglecting to foster yourself. I saw the need to take initiative. By providing you with the comfort of a blanket to sleep with, I have begun to encourage a bond between us."

"…why?"

He bites his lip before continuing, "I understand that you, along with many other children here, have not come from good home environments. What I hope to accomplish by fostering relationships with you and the others is to give you the comfort of a loving and nurturing relationship, of which you have not known in your own home."

"What is the logic behind that move? What do you pose to gain by providing us emotional comfort?" I ask, reflecting the argument back to him, not adding any of my own opinion.

"What do I pose to gain?" He said, tilting his head. "I suppose nothing can be directly obtained from spending time building relationships with you. You can give me nothing I don't already have. The reason I do it is because I love you."

If I had been awake enough to prepare to expect and respond to any answer at all, I still would not have seen that one coming. I closed my eyes. Love? Why would he…why should he love us? He wasn't related, he doesn't know me enough to be my friend, and I can assume with relative certainty that he wasn't insinuating that he felt romantic love towards any of the children here. Then why did he love us? Why did he love me? You aren't supposed to bring love into arguments, emotions are not part of the arrangement. They only serve to complicate things. The worst, most gory aspects of arguing reared when people brought in the "L-word". This I knew from bitter experience.

Of course, one could counter that love defied logic, that love couldn't be reasoned out, it couldn't be defined or tied down in an argument. That is true. Emotions are the literal opposite of logic. If emotions can't be defined, if their meaning can't be written out on paper to be debated or reasoned with, then they are worthless. Love was nothing more than an arbitrary release of chemicals in the brain. I held this fact to be true. I relied on the instability of emotions, I depended on not relying on them. For someone apparently as genius and perfectly logical as L to be using emotion as an argument, it turned my paradigm upside down.

I processed all of this in a second, and when I opened my eyes, L seemed to be eagerly awaiting my response. "Love? You say you love us, yet we're only here to serve as a replacement for you when you're finally killed. Yesterday I saw a girl get removed from this institution because she got a C on a chemistry test. Would you really let that happen to someone you love?" I attempted to provide a counter-example, to prove him wrong, because that was far easier to accept than the novel prospect of actually being loved.

"That particular student had been struggling since she came here, and she expressed explicit desire to leave. The children deemed unsuited to this level of academic challenge are relocated to one of many fantastic orphanages around the globe. She was not merely kicked out, she was provided financial security for the rest of her life, and placed in the best care that could be received. As for you only being my replacement…" he trailed off, neurons firing wildly behind his down-pointed gaze, thumbnail tucked between his teeth. "That is technically true. However, I still cannot help feeling emotionally attached to many of the children here. Especially you, Near." He looked up as he said this, like he expected a response from me.

I narrowed my eyes, looking away from him. I fidgeted under the blanket, pulling one of my knees up to my chest, hugging it as though the tighter I clutched it, the more answers it would provide. I rested my head on my knee. Closing my eyes, I analyzed the possible meanings behind his statement. Why does he love me especially? The most obvious answer was because I was number one, I was the most gifted child in this place, and L's most likely successor. It was clear that L would feel more strongly for me than someone less important. That was the obvious answer, and the logical one. And I knew that when it came to emotions that that was hardly ever the only reason for something. What other reason could there be for his feelings for me? I was not cute, funny, playful, or kind like other children here. I was the least likable, hardest to get along with. It seemed absurd to love me just because I was gifted academically.

I took a breath to give my mind time to formulate my answer. "If you really "love" me, why didn't you show it before now? I've slept here every night since I arrived, why only now did you care?"

L smiled faintly. I frowned at his peaceful expression.

"Because I didn't want to scare you away," he said quietly, calmly. I felt mildly discomfited, being assigned emotion, a characteristic I didn't want to associate with. Of course I could protest that I wouldn't be scared. But I was interested in the rest of L's explanation, so I stayed quiet, twirling a lock of hair around my fingers. I raised my head, looking him straight in the eyes.

"I assumed that if you were pulled out of an environment where you were ignored or worse, immediately bombarding you with affection would unnerve you. I didn't want to do anything that would impede the progress of our relationship, or further it in a negative direction."

With his point seemingly concluded, he spontaneously pushed himself to his feet, turning and shuffling away. For the first time in a long time, I was confused. His assumption was correct, I didn't necessarily care for any show of affection. I didn't need it. His reasoning was what alienated me from understanding. As he stated before, he wanted to build a relationship between us, for the purpose of his love for me. Where did that love originate? For whatever reason, he gave me a blanket, in itself a simple act. It could be that it is best to start simple in these things. I wouldn't know. He seemed to know, though, and he acted on it. It's not a big step, but it's progress.

Finally, something logical again. If nothing else, I know that progress is better than nothing.


End file.
